Posts Tagged ‘Pacific Northwest’

 

 

To rectify a massive oversight and kill time until we get back on the road, I asked Ralph, co-pilot of our DWR, to finally guest post on ‘Streaming. Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, put your hands together for “The Master of History”:

 

Hello! I’m the other half (or quarter, if you count Ripley and Raven) of the quartet that’s featured here. I’m the one that’s the product of that celebrity math equation on the “Who is ‘Streaming?” page, and the one with the foldable fetish.

Things have been quiet….Rhonda been very busy writing, about Airstreams of course, and we haven’t been out on the road much at all. That’s what happens when you lose control of your life; when work and a new house start getting in the way of having Airstream fun. 

The move to Bend has changed our approach to Airstreaming. Here, the weather starts becoming a factor–at least that’s what our predisposition was. Either roads are icy, campgrounds closed, or you just want to hunker down. Now, this year, there’s no excuse. The weather in late November and December was good, but the Holidays just got in the way. Also, the house is too nice. Yes, the Pine Cone Lodge (the nickname we gave our house) is a pretty fun place, and we’re busy exploring Bend. So, lots of reasons but no excuses. 

The upside is that we’ll have some great adventures once we get going, because Central Oregon is a target-rich environment for the short trips we make during the late Winter and Spring. There’s Crater Lake (when it reopens), the Lakeview district, and maybe even stopping over at Frenchglen again, but this time taking it all the way out to Winnemucca. I’ve got a couple of fishing trips lined up (thank goodness we now have seat covers), and Rhonda’s planning another visit to Burning Man.

So, stay tuned…

 

 

 

 

The first day of fall in Bend. Ahh. Most of the tourist trade has vanished (I’m told), and the hipsters have slunk back to Portland and their PBRs. Locals are relaxing, the sky is blue, and the beer is flowing.

 

When I moved to Portland twenty years ago I had not yet heard of hefeweizen and immediately contracted OBD (Oregon Butt Disease), which manifests as fifteen sudden pounds in the posterior caused by too many 200-calorie pints. I’ve since switched to red wine and martinis (probably no less caloric) but now that I’m #inbend, I’m rediscovering beer. Portland is touted as Beervana, but Central Oregon seems to be nosing ahead as the leader of the craft brew movement. 

 

First stop: Oktoberfest, downtown. Lots of said beverage, an oompah band, brats, deep fried pickles, wiener dog races, “absurd games of skill for prizes”, and a lederhosen/dirndl costume contest (though more were dressed in yellow and green and relieved to learn the Oregon game would be aired in the polka tent). 

 

Later, I joined a hairier crowd sunbathing a short bike ride away at the Bend Roots Revival: “three days, eight stages and 100 local music acts” in a stealth location between a brew pub and a winery. 

 

Twenty minutes away in twee Sisters, more music and more drinking under the big tent at the Fresh Hop Festival.

 

All uncrowded, all free admission, all in one weekend. Dozens of designer beers, 105 bands, 90 degrees…wait, why am I telling you this? Strike that. Bend sucks. Nothing to see here…move along.

 

 

 

I towed into Pendleton, Oregon minutes before the Westward Ho! parade and faced nowhere to park; every empty slot and lot teemed with RVs and horse trailers and teepees. Somehow I squeezed into a miracle spot in the WalMart parking lot, stuffed to the curbs with motorhomes, tents, and rednecks camped in the beds of their pickups…like spring break for hillbillies. I followed the crowd and piles of manure on Court Street to the all non-motorized parade which showcased wild west wagons and buggies, all manner of cowboy, Indians, Mexicans, sheriffs, preachers, outlaws, firemen, Oregon Trail pioneers, weird timber equipment, every rodeo princess in the Northwest, longhorns, mules, donkeys, horses, miniature ponies, and State Treasurer Ted Wheeler. The sky was blue, the sun warm, the air acrid with smell of freshly-dropped dung. Life is good. “Let ‘er buck, hail yay-uh,” commented the spectator to my right about the inscription tooled on the chaps of a pretty cowgirl.

 

During Round-Up Pendleton swells by 50,000 people and becomes a spectacle. Tents with vendors hawking cowboy hats, brisket and tacos, rugs and horse blankets, cowgirl bling, and Native American crafts line the streets; at night, the town hosts a week-long party with five entertainment stages and assorted bacchanalia. 

 

The rodeo itself is one of the ten largest in the world. The announcer (who is quite excellent) kicks off the competition by leading the crowd in the official catchphrase: “It’s a noun, it’s an adjective, it’s a verb…!” to which the crowd screams “Let ‘er buck!!” The concessions are reasonable (beer, $4) and the townfolk are friendly and polite. I was mildly surprised when the audience stood to enthusiastically cheer the area tribes in their ceremonial attire during the Indian Show portion of the rodeo; the community here warmly embraces and honors the Native American, a part of Round-Up week for 101 years. (It’s not like that in California. Just sayin’.)

 

I visited the “Let ‘Er Buck Room” during a break in the rodeo action to see if I could get groped. (No takers). Less of a bar and more of just a shadowy, enclosed space beneath the bleachers, the famous party den is packed wall to wall with drinkers generating a deafening noise; copious signage warns “Keep Your Clothes On – Indecent Exposure Will Not Be Tolerated”.

 

I drycamped for the weekend in the community park and enjoyed overeating and overdrinking as usual with the Oregon Unit of the WBCCI, who have been hosting Airstreamers at the Round-Up for 46 years.

 

Parade rankings by the author

(Criteria: Length, weather, relative lack of corporate sponsorship, high local kitsch factor)

1. UFO Festival, McMinnville
2. San Diego St. Patrick’s Day
3. Pendleton Round-Up Westward Ho! Parade
4. Detroit Lakes Water Carnival Parade of the Northwest
5. Fred Meyer Children’s Holiday Parade (now, alas, Macy’s)
6. Tournament of Roses, Pasadena
7. Portland Pride 
8. Lompoc Flower Festival 
9. Grand Floral Parade, Portland
10. Crazy Days Pet and Doll Parade, Audubon MN
11. Vergas Looney Daze 
12. Jackson Center Community Days

 

Parade bucket list

• Portland Starlight Parade
• Doo Dah Parade
• Carnivale, Brazil
• Carnivale, Trinidad
• Mardi Gras
• Please comment your suggestions!

 

 

Airstream is but a tiny, shiny star in the RV universe—most are SOBs (Some Other Brand). ‘Streamers I recently polled guesstimate that Airstreams comprise only one to three percent of the market, both new and old.

 

As it was held in my backyard (Redmond, only thirty minutes from Bend), I dropped in on The Rally (sans DWR…no aluminum allowed*), the premier annual RV gathering, to see how the other (more than) half lives.

 

It looked kinda fun, if you have a White Box: an indoor trade show of RV goodies and gear, mountainous new mohos with their handlers from the dealership, seminars like “Controlling Odors in Holding Tanks”, and goofy activities like the dog and owner lookalike contest.

 

But what do I know. Meet Erin Floresca, @LittleSnowbirds on Twitter and BellaOnline’s RV editor. Homebased in Oregon, she travels with her family in a 32 foot 2008 Fourwinds Chateau. “I love the pace of RV trips,” she states in her online bio. “It gives you the opportunity to stop in and see the roadside attractions that otherwise might have been missed. There is always plenty of time to stop at places like Wall Drug to purchase some jackalope souvenirs—the campier the road trip, the better.”

 

I heart her. Erin, how was The Rally?

 

"When I first heard that the Good Sam RV Rally was being held just a few hours away from where I lived, I actually tried to talk myself out of going. Oh, I had plenty of excuses—it was taking place during deadline weekend, it wasn’t in our budget, you know the drill. But the more I thought about The Rally, the more I realized I needed to go.

 

It’s been almost a decade since I was a full-time RVer completely immersed in the wonderful world of RVing. In the past few years, my family has only taken a handful of RV trips. Since we haven’t been on the road that much, I’ve actually entertained the idea that perhaps we should sell our motorhome. We could always buy another one a few years down the road, right? But I didn’t want to get any further away from the RV lifestyle that I adored so much; what I needed was a better reason to get closer to it. And that reason came in the form of the annual Good Sam RV Rally.

 

We made the short journey to the 2011 Rally being held at the Deschutes County Fair & Expo Center in Redmond, Oregon on a sunny Thursday afternoon. While driving toward our designated dry camping area, I was in awe of the surrounding view. And not because of the snowcapped mountains to the south and west. Spread out before us were rows and rows of RVs in every direction! (Rumor around the shuttle stops said the final count was around 4,500 RVs.) It was a sight to behold and instantly invigorated me. I knew before we were even settled into our site that going to The Rally was one of the best decisions I’d made in a long time.

 

Over the course of the next few days, we wandered around and partook in many of the offerings available to rally attendees. There were hundreds of seminars and exhibitors, live entertainment, and my favorite, the over 700 RVs for sale on display. I discovered many cool products and services available for the RV crowd. I really dug the new Rand McNally TripMaker RVND 5510 GPS device that was designed specifically for RVers. I also signed up for a free new service called WiFiRVFriends that not only helps you choose your next WiFi capable RV park, but acts as a social networking site too.

 

I was floored by the Bissell Perfect Sweep Turbo vacuum cleaner as well. It’s battery-powered, lightweight, and stores easily; just perfect for an RV. Priced at just $40, it’s hard to beat. I also fell in love with several Class A motorhomes like the 2011 Aspire 42DLQ by Entegra Coach and the 2011 Allegro Bus 43QGP. (It’s like a mini Caesar’s Palace on wheels, complete with raised bowl ‘his and hers’ vanity sinks in the bathroom! Love it!)

 

I was delighted to see an abundance of eco-friendly TRA Green Certified rigs on display (The Rally itself could have used a few recycle bins). I also learned that Pilot Travel Centers is partnering with the Good Sam Club to offer some exciting benefits to RVers. And let’s not forget the nightly gathering for entertainment with music icons like Bobby Vinton (who knew I knew so many of his songs?) and country music star Vince Gill. Fun, fun!

 

Overall, the Good Sam RV Rally was exactly what this little RVer needed. I needed to be inspired again by all of the cool rigs, products and services available to the RV crowd. I needed to be around other people who understood and appreciated the RV lifestyle. I needed to experience that feeling of being a part of the RV community—and that is exactly what I got.

 

I’m refreshed in my enthusiasm for all things RV thanks to the Good Sam RV Rally. Now, if I can only figure out how to get back on the road full time!"

 

Photo of Erin by Patrick Floresca; Allegro Bus photo on ‘Streaming home page courtesy of Erin Floresca

 

 

*kidding. Sort of.

 

 

 

From the moment I was informed by the nice gas station character that filled the trailer tires that 38 tornadoes just had their way with my eastern destination states, the hostile spring weather has tried to run me off the road: torrential rain in Washington; fat wet snow flurries in Oregon (is the west not aware that it’s nearly Memorial Day?); fierce winds in Idaho that actually BLEW A PART OFF the Airstream (hopefully they’ll reattach it at The Mothership); and fog so dense in Wyoming that semi drivers on the I-80 formed a 30mph protective convoy, hazards flashing.

 

I didn’t see another Airstream on the road until two days into the journey to Alumapalooza—they waved to me from the other side of the freeway in Utah where I was shipwrecked with a blowout. (“What’s next?” asked Ralph on the phone. “Locusts? Raining frogs?”)

 

Having fun anyway. Portland humorist Joe Spooner suggested I stay alert for Little America, which he remembered from crosscountry road trips with his family. Billboards for it appeared up 60 miles in advance but offered no compelling reason to stop: “17 marble showers”, “clean restrooms”, “mechanic on duty”. (At least Wall Drug offers free ice water.) I pulled in anyway, as commanded, and found a long row of Colonial-style buildings with a Sinclair dinosaur on the lawn and absolutely nothing inside: hotel rooms, a tragic gift shop, and a restaurant with the bleak ambiance and fusty smell of a nursing home. That it’s a destination at all is a testament to how empty and devoid of attractions southcentral Wyoming is.

 

Hungry for kitsch, I followed signs at the Nebraska border to the “shrine” hoping to find a local Lourdes-like grotto but it’s just a collosal concrete statue (the largest in Wyoming!) of the Virgin Mary that I could have just as easily seen from the interstate.

 

Road Trip Thumbs Up

☺Free campground WiFi

☺O’Jays on the iPod

☺The Dennis Miller AM radio show. (For a comedian famous for his “rants” he’s the most subdued national pundit. Please, everyone on Fox Talk, CTFD.)

☺Pilot stations. (Wide, accommodating lanes between the pumps; unnaturally bubbly ladies at the counter; Cinnabon.)

☺States that post the number of miles to the next gas station.

☺New puppy Raven—at only three months, already Airstreaming like a champ.

 

 

This month we started the bassackward process of relocating our belongings to Bend, Oregon, a three-plus hour drive from Portland.

 

Why Bend? It’s a fishin’ hikin’ skiin’ bikin’ town, all activities Ralph enjoys and I will, too when the right loaded firearm is pointed at my head. Compared to hipster Portland (“a city where young people go to retire,” as observed in Portlandia), Bend culture can best be described as “emerging”. But I love the pine smells, the clean high desert ambience and relative lack of traffic #inBend. The new house, set back from the street and far from the neighbors, is surrounded instead by wildlife and easterly views, and came with a pull through driveway and civilized gravel pad upon which to park the DWR.

What I won’t miss about Portland

1. Rain. Its wet reputation? All true. Oh, you’ll read “yes, but, [insert town in Hawaii or the deep South] has blah blah more rainfall inches per year” but that stat must have more to do with the accumulation of occasional torrential downpours, not the persistent, dank, bone chilling, continual grey drizzle that typifies Portland’s miserable weather. Here’s how much it rains: Shoppers at Safeway hand off their “dry” grocery cart at the entrance. (Others must use provided paper towels to wipe down the soaking wet carts.) Outdoor event coordinators buy “rain insurance”. Outdoor weddings are scheduled with a contingency plan. Due to depression and suicide (often linked to the weather), Portland ranks reliably high in the annual “America’s Unhappiest City” lists.

 

2. Mexican food :: lack thereof.

 

3. Smug jaywalkers and bicycle terrorists (you know who you are).

 

4. The rush hour bottleneck on I5 between Portland and The Couve, effectively trapping residents behind state lines between 2 and 7pm.

What I will miss

Virtually everything else. Portland, Oregon is the most eccentric, vital, stimulating, and flat out fun location in the country (north of San Francisco and west of New Orleans).

 

Like a New Yorker who leaves the city without ever going to the Met, I’m saddened by all I haven’t done and took for granted; real music, edgy food, and whimsical events available right outside my door, every day, every night of the week.

 

Before leaving I authored an iPhone app, Portland Insider, as a sort of love letter to the city. (Please buy a copy! It’s only $2.99 and I get a buck for each one sold. I can’t say proceeds will go to charity unless you consider my Airstream habit one.) Perfect for visitors who are looking for Rose City activities beyond the mainstream. 

 

 

Laura and Kevin, the Oregon couple I interviewed for Airstream Life ("The Technomads", Winter 2010), own a stomp-gorgeous 2010 27′ International. I dropped by to spend a splendid morning where they were glamped at Champoeg State Park only thirty miles from Portland, where the couple enjoys taking their writing work while they take in the view. (Sometimes they tow over to the coast, for a different scene from their picture window.)

 

Both hightech creatives, they’ve upgunned their rig with sleek silver and chocolate upholstery, the tastiest of household conveniences (down to the ingenious key holder by the door, magnetic vertical spice jars, and wine rack under the bed), and wired it (with as many solar panels as possible on the roof and supporting tech) for life on the road as long as they wish to be away from the city.

 

Expansive Champoeg (pronouned “shampooey”) State Park offers the requisite visitor’s center with interactive displays about regional history (“Open this door to vote ‘yes’ for a provisional government”) (wtf?), an 1860s kitchen garden, frisbee golf, and fishing in the Willamette River. It’s also the gravesite of Kitty Newell (a Nez Perce woman and trapper’s wife) and the Manson Barn; clues collected during its restoration date the structure back to the 1830s—not the 1860s as previously thought—making it (possibly) the oldest building left standing in Oregon.

 

 

Why we waited to replace a four year old battery until the day it died—the morning of a road trip—is indicative of how we roll. Ralph, not what anyone would describe as a grease monkey, struggled with the issues surrounding its replacement and we were off like a herd of turtles to The Dalles only three hours past ETD.

The Dalles, Oregon: the town that sounds awkward in any sentence. (“Historic The Dalles.” “The The Dalles walking tour.”) Instead of demolishing their tired old infrastructure, forward-thinking city planners must have said, “Let’s hold off. In another three decades, history buffs will come in their Airstreams to see our one hundred year old Oddfellows Lodge, and drink our beer.” And so it came to pass.

A brochure provided by The Historic Downtown The Dalles Association tells the story of each worn brick building (and a map can be uploaded to your handheld as you walk the few commercial blocks).

The nearby Deschutes River State Park—a splendid, spacious campground right on the river—was sub-freezing, the bathrooms were locked, and the camp host had wisely moved on to less wintery climes. We spent most of the weekend in the warm local ale joints.

 

 

Tillamook, Oregon is a depressing working class town with two agreeable ways to kill an afternoon.

 

According to the tourist brochure, the Tillamook Cheese factory is one of the top ten visitor attractions in Oregon. (California this isn’t.) Signage inside reads “nearly 1 million visitors stop at the Tillamook Cheese Visitors Center” (a day? a year? since the beginning of time?)

 

It’s easy to ignore the many badly-designed, text dense displays; the entire factory —packing machines, conveyor belts, workerbees—is visible behind glass from observation decks. (“Wouldn’t it be great if they piped in Raymond Scott music?” said Ralph.)

 

Back downstairs the free samples are plentiful and strategically located near the refrigerated cases full of cheese, glorious cheese, for purchase (including hard to find varieties). Recipes and instructive materials are available, like the beer and cheese pairing guide and the "Cheese – Care and Handling” booklet. 

 

We skipped the cafe as we were instead drawn to a ramshackle seafood joint directly across the street. (Get the halibut fish and chips, ZOMG.)

 

Less popular but ten times bigger is the Tillamook Air Museum at the edge of town where vintage, mostly military still-flyable aircraft are parked in a giant former blimp hangar built in 1942. Obey the suggestion to view the video before you pay the planes a visit. (In winter, the tiny theatre will be the only warm spot in the facility.) The “helium room” houses the vintage machinery that once pumped up the blimps and photos of the weird aircraft once stored in Hangar B.

 

It was 21 degrees when we left Portland on New Year’s Eve day and it wasn’t much warmer at Cape Lookout State Park on the Oregon Coast, but the sky was a promising blue.

 

We unhitched the Airstream and drove to nearby Netarts to celebrate over steak and cocktails at the fanciest lounge we could find. “A lot of people here, are, uh…missing teeth,” Ralph observed. Somehow the evening cartwheeled into a fireball and we returned to the trailer after a wicked argument and fell asleep—back to back—by 9pm.

 

New Year’s day dawned clear and cold, offering a fresh start. We visited Cape Meares Lighthouse, old Ralston enjoyed the sea smells, Ripley wore his little parka. A fiery sunset was followed by a limitless black night sky without a moon, cloud cover or light pollution; a million stars glittered like retail diamonds.